


Everything I Ever Wanted

by vivosen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Britain's Got Talent - Freeform, Gentle touches, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, POV Alternating, Singer!Harry, Slow Burn, a comatose character, also: an abundance of nicknames, and memory loss, but only by name, heavy themes throughout, including topics of life and death, like actual slow burn, like they touch a lot omg, reaper!louis, take a shot each time you catch one (please don't), there are a few larry tropes sprinkled in, there is also a lot of, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivosen/pseuds/vivosen
Summary: All Harry wanted to be was a singer, but life had other plans for him when he’s diagnosed with throat cancer at eight years old. When he finally turns eighteen, he’s officially set to have surgery to remove it, which will take his dreams right along with it. That’s when he meets Louis, a reaper who doesn’t remember anything of his past, and has been sent to bring Harry to the afterlife.They soon strike a deal: Harry gets an extra year to live, and at the end of it, Louis takes Harry quietly back along with him. Over the following year they learn just how much they truly need each other… in more ways then one.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags before proceeding on with this fic.
> 
> this fic deals with serious topics such as: cancer, specifically throat cancer; life and death; characters dealing with comatose; and memory loss. this fic can get a bit sad at times, and occasionally dark, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> i've been wanting to write this fic for ages and i finally sat down and cranked it out! i'm pretty happy with how everything has turned out so far, and most of the fic is written out. it has not been brit picked or beta read, so if there are any major mistakes, please don't hesitate to tell me! 
> 
> this fic is very loosely inspired by [this manga.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Full_Moon_o_Sagashite) and if you're interested, you can listen to the playlist [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2GoPiGOMvL1Td5oHf8yHi8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: a main character deals with a panic attack

Harry found out what it meant to be in love at the tender age of six.

His memory was a bit fuzzy around the edges, but he could still tell you just about everything that happened on that fateful day.

He had been running through the large, open field near their house with Gemma: a small but homey place tucked in a quiet little suburb that was minutes away from the freeway. The sun was high in the sky, the heat pressing onto their backs ruthlessly as they raced through the tall grass. Every so often his sister would pop out and scare him, causing him to shriek loudly and run as fast as his legs could carry him. 

The further he ran, the deeper he went, the overgrown thicket brushing all over his exposed skin, a gentle caress that pulled him in. Soon, he wasn’t sure where he was, and as he looked around, Gemma was nowhere to be found. The sun was still holding its own in the cloudless blue above him, giving no semblance of time to let him know how long he had been out there. 

“Gemma?” he called out, but only his echo returned his call back, and suddenly he realized that he was well and truly alone.

And that was how he was found: curled into a ball, head tucked into his knees, crying weakly for someone to find him. 

A gentle hand pat at his head, tousling his curly hair, causing him to look up with tears hanging at the edges of his eyes. The boy that stood there wasn’t much older then him, with dark hair and a small smile, looking as mature as a bigger kid could be. A big kid meant that Harry wasn’t alone. He could get back home.

“Are you lost?” the boy asked him, and Harry nodded in response, sniffling loudly.

The boy squatted down, now at his eye level, giving a knowing smile. His eyes twinkled like he knew something Harry didn’t. “Well, my mum said that I’m pretty good at finding things, and looks like I found you!”

Harry rubbed at his eyes and sniffled again, giving the boy another nod.

“What’s your name?” he asked him, hands still in the mess of hair atop Harry's head.

“Harry.”

“Well, Harry, I guess it’s time to get you unlost, okay?” 

Harry looked curiously at the boy, only slightly weary at the offer. Though he spoke gently with the kindest of eyes, Harry had learned from his mother and Gemma not to do things with strangers. 

He says as much: “Mummy and Gemma said I’m not supposed to go with a stranger anywhere.”

The boy blinks before grinning at him again, sticking his hand out as if going for a handshake. “My name is [...]! I’m eight years old and in year three! See? We’re not strangers anymore. We’re friends!” 

Harry stared at his new friend in wonder, eyes the size of saucers in utter disbelief. Instead of answering, Harry finally felt himself smile, slowly bringing his hand out to take the other’s boys in his own. His grip was firm but gentle, a brisk handshake given before Harry’s hand fell back into his lap.

His new friend stood up then, looking around them, hands over his eyes like a pair of binoculars. Using a silly voice, high-pitched and wonky, he said, “Looks like we’re lost in the creepy-crawly forest, Harry! We don’t have a map so we gotta use plan B!”

Harry gave a few confused blinks, looking around the field they were in, unsure of what the other boy was going on about. It must have translated to his face, for his friend gave him a toothy grin, big eyes squinting with the force of it.

“We’re adventurers, Harry! We gotta always be ready for all kinds of trouble! There’s probably footprints or something we can use to get back!”

His friend offered him a hand, the sun casting a glow around him, making him look illuminated and golden. Harry was still unsure what was going on, but he trusted his new friend to help. So he took his hand and was hoisted to his feet, brushing off his clothes of grass and dirt.

“That’s a good lad! Let’s go find those footprints!” His friend guided him by the hand forward, pointing to random spots in the grass and identifying “marks” in the dirt as they trekked along.

Eventually Harry got into the game, as well. What started off as adventurers morphed into pirates, then astronaut's, then cowboys. They shared bits of their lives with each other, hand in hand, and Harry could still tell you to this day that his friend was the oldest sibling and that his mum and dad sometimes argued at the breakfast table; could easily tell you that he wanted to be an actor, hated green vegetables, and was a big sports fan.

Their journey lasted for so long that by the time the entrance to the field was in sight, the sun was low in the sky, bathing everything in a soft, orange glow. He heard Gemma calling his name, voice frantic and Harry called back, knowing from her answering yell that she was coming to gather him. 

"Mummy is going to be mad at me," Harry mumbled softly, holding on tightly to his friends hand.

"Just tell her we were super adventurers that got lost and found our way home! She'll think you're proper brave like I do."

Harry could hear Gemma getting closer, but all he could do was look at his friend with big eyes.

With barely contained worry, Harry asked, "But what if I get lost again?" 

His friend only smiled at him, kind eyes twinkling, and said, "No matter what, if you ever get lost, I swear I'm gonna bring you back home, okay?”

Harry gave his biggest smile yet, squeezing his friend’s hand within his own, feeling a weird tightness in his chest right where his heart sat. 

“Promise?” Harry asked, voice filled with hope.

“Promise.”

  
  


After that, everything just got better. 

He saw his friend every other weekend, sang in the class play as the lead, and before he fell asleep every night he whispered into the universe of his dream to sing on stage under twinkling lights.

And then, his friend suddenly moved away.

Harry wasn’t sure when he had left, only that one day he was suddenly gone. Harry had waited at their usual spot in the field one hot Saturday in April, but the older boy had never shown up. He did the same the next day, and then the same the following weekend, but he ended up sunburnt, alone, and broken hearted.

After that, everything started going downhill.

A few weeks shy of turning eight, he was seated in a hospital gown, holding his mother's hand as he waited for his test results to come. He could remember this moment clearly because his diagnosis barreled into him so hard that he physically recoiled and almost fell off the table. His mother was barely able to support him upright afterwards.

Cancer in the throat. Stage 1.

Though he didn't fully understand what the doctor and his mom discussed, he knew something was wrong. It wasn't until his mother gently took him into her arms and explained it in terms he could digest that he finally sobbed into her shirt.

The surgery he would need would make it so he'd never sing again - and at almost eight years old, he felt like his world was ending.

He fought and he cried and he screamed, all but threatening to tear his voice apart as he begged and pleaded to not get the treatment. He couldn't lose the thing he wanted the most. Couldn't give up on his dreams. He sobbed and sobbed until his mom relented, but only until he was eighteen. 

So in between visits to the doctor he wholeheartedly jumped headfirst into everything he could. Musicals, the school choir, and even formed a band with his friends. He enjoyed his time as long as he had it, until it got harder to hold a note. Until his voice started to crack and he was doubling over in a coughing fit. 

Two days before his eighteenth birthday, he was diagnosed with Stage 3 throat cancer.

And it was there, in the draft of his patient room, that his mother made the decision for him. In a months time, he would have surgery to remove the cancer that clung on his vocal cords. Which meant, in a month's time, he would have every dream he whispered into the air of his bedroom since he was a child shattered into unfixable pieces. 

Harry wanted to laugh about it, now. Now that it was a week before he was to have surgery, he wanted to laugh at himself for even dreaming. Even the flyer pinned to his wall for the audition he had been waiting on for _months_ had a good laugh at him. He knew what would happen, he knew what the result would be. But God, his dreams were so sweet, seemingly so tangible he could feel it whenever he belted out a tune. A dream in the form of a song pulled out of his heart. He wanted to be optimistic but how could he? Because he was a week away from never singing again, and every part of him _ached_.

Just the thought had his vision blurring in tears, bringing him back to where he currently sat on his bed, staring out the part of his window not covered in February's frost. Soft light from his lamp cast the room in a warm glow, draping over everything with sweet familiarity. Like always, his bedroom was a safe haven, the walls holding all the words of affirmation he had given himself over the years. It was protective—ironically enough, it was all he felt that was left of his dream. Every corner had an aspiration tucked tightly within it, holding them close and keeping them safe. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands before bringing jogger clad knees to his chest, taking a deep breath to try and quell the sadness swirling within him. 

It was times like these that he would sing. Belt at the top of his lungs all the emotions he held deep inside. He’d sing the words that resided within his heart, his mind, his soul. As if on instinct he began to hum the beginning harmony, not all the way figured out but concrete enough to bring his lyrics to life. And with this melody came the words nestled safely in his chest, spreading their wings out into the world.

_“Just stop your crying, it’s the sign of the times. We gotta get away from here. We gotta get away_ _—_ _”_

But just like every other time before, he couldn’t get past those few lines before it took a turn for the worst.

His throat constricted painfully, sharp pin pricks along his throat, causing him to double over with his head hanging uselessly between his legs. He coughed, sharp and rough, fire overtaking his lungs. It felt like hours before it seemed to lessen, wheezing into his fist as speckles of black floated before his eyes. Chest heaving as he took in deep gulps of air, he was finally able to take a semblance of a real breath, wiping his eyes of previously shed tears. 

Slowly sitting up he blinked to clear his vision, only for something else to block his view entirely. There, with a concerned look on his face, was a boy not much older than himself. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he peered up at Harry from where he stood near the bedroom window. 

It took Harry all of three seconds to process this information before appropriately freaking out, jumping backwards with a choked up shout, the movement aggressive enough to cause him to fall off the opposite side of the bed. 

“Oh, shit. Don’t go breaking anything, Curly. Need to return you in one piece.”

Although Harry figured out that, yes, he had been spoken to, it didn’t really click into place until the last possible moment. All he could focus on was that there was a stranger in his room and that they suddenly appeared out of thin air. His eyes quickly shot over to his bedroom door, checking to make sure it was still locked, before slowly sitting up and peeking his head out over the side of the bed. The boy was still there, staring at him with less concern now and more amusement, the window behind him still firmly locked and closed as it had been before. 

When Harry said he wanted for his dreams to return, he wasn’t expecting the walls to project a brown haired, blue eyed boy with the prettiest face he had ever seen. He didn’t remember speaking _that_ into existence. For the briefest of moments he wondered if his coughing fit had finally taken what was left of his life and had brought to some weird sort of limbo. One with cute boys with soft looking hair, long eyelashes, and high cheekbones.

“Nah, not dead yet, my dear Harold. Can’t say I’ll deny the compliment, though,” the boy teased, those same bright eyes seeming to glow brighter from the lamp’s light. 

And, _oh._ He had said his thoughts out loud.

An embarrassed flush crept up the sides of his neck to the apples of his cheeks, eyes casting downwards shyly for a moment. Then, the reality of the situation set in and he looked up to the stranger again. “Wait, what do you mean ‘not dead yet’? And who are you? How did you get into my room?”

The stranger paused, taking in all his questions before sighing softly. It seemed like the answer he was going to give pained him and that he was trying to choose his words carefully. Harry could feel the anxiety coil in his gut.

“Feel like you’re gonna want to properly sit down for this, Harry.”

His words were soft and fragile, eyes still on Harry but now they seemed sadder, dimmer compared to their brightness only moments ago. The previous anxiety turned into dread, and slowly Harry crawled back onto his bed, grabbing one of his pillows and brought it to his chest, squeezing it close whilst taking a deep breath. He could see the stranger was waiting on him to give confirmation that he was ready, and although Harry knew he wasn’t, and would probably never be, he gave the smallest of nods, anyway.

The boy frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, as if he was trying to protect himself from whatever he was going to say next. 

“You’re going to die soon, Harry. In a few hours, maybe a little less. The complications of your lungs from the cancer in your throat are further along than they think. The surgery wouldn’t be able to save you.” The stranger says it so gently and quietly that if Harry hadn't felt his breath catch, he would have never heard it.

The stranger continued somberly, “I’m Louis, a reaper. I’m here to take you to the afterlife. I’m so sorry.”

His apology fell on deaf ears, however, because Harry felt like he was underwater, drowning. His throat was constricting, taking the air from his lungs. The despair of the news was gripping him tightly and pulling him further down into its depths. The deeper he submerged the harder it felt to breathe. He was going to die. It would soon be all over.

Through the ocean of emotion he could hear pained sobs, his eyes burning alongside a painful squeeze in his chest. He was dying and drowning, and God, it hurt so bad. He wanted to survive. Singing was his livelihood and that seemed to be fading quickly, but there was still a chance for things to go _right._ And it couldn’t go right if he was dead. He reached out in the metaphorical waters, wanting to touch the surface but never close enough. His lungs were filling up, despair blocking his airflow, and now he was scared. He was going to die in his room, with his dreams shattered, downing in the sea.

_‘Help me. I don’t want to go yet._ _Please.’_

Something touched his scalp, gentle and featherlight, making way through his underwater barrier. His hand reached out quickly with the urgency to touch and make sure it was real. Beneath his fingertips was something warm, comforting, and solid. He gripped onto it tightly, pulling on it, and it came closer, bringing him upwards. If Harry was the anchor falling to the bottom of the sea, this was the rope pulling him out. And it pulled just enough to help him break clean through the water's surface.

He took a gasping breath and the soft light filtered through, hitting his eyes and making him flinch. When everything refocused he was staring into bright blue eyes filled with so much worry and concern that Harry no longer felt like a means to an end. His head was in Louis’ lap, and the touch he felt was fingers running through his hair, slow and deliberate as Harry laid there trying to catch his breath. The solid feeling under his palm was Louis’ other arm, his hand placed to Harry’s cheek, thumb running under his eyes to catch the wetness there.

“Are you alright, love?” Louis asked, voice high but a note of apprehension made its way through.

Harry could feel the sting of fresh tears at the question, feeling himself shake his head in response. No, he wasn’t alright. He didn’t want to go. He wasn’t ready yet.

“Please… please don’t let me die. I’ll do _anything,_ ” he begged, voice rough from his previous breakdown. 

Louis looked torn, brows pinched together in pity. His fingers stilled in Harry’s hair, fringe falling over his eyes as he tore his gaze away.

“I can’t do that, Harry. I know it’s hard, but—”

“Please,” Harry begged again, trying to get Louis to look at him as he pleaded. “All my life I wanted to be a singer. I sang everyday, even when I knew it would destroy me. I can’t just give that up. I’m not just singing for me… there’s someone who needs to hear my song.”

Louis briefly looked back to him, gaze calculating but soft around the edges.

“What do you mean by ‘someone’, Harry?”

Harry got a brief flashback in the form of big eyes, a loud laugh, and a pinky promise--of the home his six year old self made within the only love he’d ever known.

“I… I don’t remember his name. It was ages ago... but he promised me that if I was ever lost, he would bring me home. Let me find him, please. Let me find him and I’ll go with you. I swear.”

Louis’ gaze held steady on his own, unblinking, as if he was looking through him. For a long, tense moment, nothing was said between them. Louis looked like he was weighing his options, then eventually, he looked away from Harry again. His gaze was directed out the window, and when he spoke, his voice was the softest it had been before.

“How do you know he’s still out there? How do you know that he wasn’t visited by someone like me, too? What then?”

The somber tone made something ache in Harry’s chest. Louis spoke like someone who was all too familiar with losing someone they cared about. Harry placed his hand over the one Louis had on his cheek, gently taking it in his hold and gave it a squeeze. It took awhile for Louis to look back at him, eyes misty but no tears were shed. He looked tired, but his gaze was open. He was waiting for Harry to speak. He was giving him the go ahead to voice his reasoning.

As softly as he could, Harry spoke: “I don’t know, Louis. I won’t ever know unless I look. If my song can lead me to him, to find him and get some closure, then I want to try. I don’t want to give up before I really even started. I don’t want any regrets. I don’t want anything holding me back.”

Harry watched Louis’ adam apple bob as he swallowed, eyes still misty but also filled with a look Harry couldn’t decipher. It was just as gentle as the rest of him, warm at its core and softened at the edges. Louis gave another sigh, one that seemed fully resigned, as if the words were what would raise his white flag in surrender.

“You’re really set on finding the lad, huh?”

Harry nodded without hesitation, giving Louis’ hand another squeeze, and the other boy shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Well then, Curly. I think I might be able to bend the rules for you. Just a wee bit.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, the outcome unexpected. He sat up so quick he almost knocked his head against Louis’, letting their hands drop before throwing his arms around the other boy and squeezing him tight. The laugh he received in response was boisterous and musical, taking place on Harry’s bedroom walls as if they always belonged there. Louis hugged him back tightly, nice and proper, before pulling away and giving him a big smile. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle, radiating joy that warmed Harry from the inside.

“What do I have to do first? Uh, do I have to… you know…—” Harry made a quick slicing motion across his throat with his thumb, which had Louis looking at him with mild alarm.

"God, no. That defeats the entire purpose,” Louis explained quickly with a snort, shaking his head. 

Harry watched closely as Louis brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down on it, hard enough to draw blood. So much that a mark was left on his finger, the crimson liquid pooling out right after, dripping down his thumb and slowly making its way to his palm. Louis must have seen his panicked look at the action, because he laughed and stuck the wound in Harry’s face, close to his mouth.

“You’ll have to drink my blood.”

“Pardon?” Harry couldn’t believe this.

“You have to drink the blood from my finger. Chop, chop, Curly, you don’t have much time left,” Louis reminded him, looking above his head quickly before pressing his thumb to Harry’s slightly parted lips.

“I thought you were, like, a Grim Reaper, or something, not a vampire. Are there even Grim Reaper vampires?”

“Oh for Christ's sake, Harry! Just drink it!” Louis tried to hurry him, though his eye roll and smile took away the urgency of it.

Harry tried his best to look down at the other boy’s hand, but Louis’ patience seemed to have run out, for he quickly thrust his thumb right into his mouth. Instinctively, Harry sealed his lips around it, the rustic liquid brushing against his tongue and the back of his teeth. He watched Louis as Louis watched him, eyes zeroed in on Harry’s mouth with an intensity that made his stomach swoop. Without another thought he gave Louis’ thumb a suck to clean off the excess, focusing closely at the way the other boy’s eyes widened quickly before he let out a harsh breath. Harry opened his mouth just as Louis pulled his hand away and coughed quietly, looking away from Harry and slipping off the bed. Harry put a bit of space between them, scooting backward closer to his headboard, the air around them charged as they stared back at each other.

Louis’ eyes seemed to flicker up and down along Harry’s face before he looked away for a moment, clearing his throat. Harry felt a small smile pull his lips upwards, trying not to chuckle but unable to contain the soft snort through his nose. Louis seemed to be hiding his own smile, as well, before he finally straightened up and refocused himself. His eyes were back on Harry now, gaze unwavering. They seemed to burn brighter with the moonlight behind him, casting a shadow over part of his body—a contrast to the soft glow that took over the rest of his bedroom. Harry was well aware of what Louis was, but seeing him like that made the reality of it far more clear.

“By drinking my blood, I extended your lifespan. It only lasts for a year, but it cures you of any and all illness. I will be fully responsible for your life until your time is up. While my blood is in your body, you will be completely healthy. That means you can find your person, whoever he is.”

Harry took the words in and felt his chest tighten for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Louis looked concerned immediately, frown prominent on his face, marring his features.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Confusion took over Harry and slowly his hand rose to touch his face, feeling the wetness under his fingertips. He hadn't realized he had started crying, tears rolling down his cheeks in what seemed like an endless stream of emotion. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, a wet laugh bubbling out from his throat. Louis had been kind and caring from the start, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just really happy right now,” he apologized, sniffling and looking back at Louis to give him a shaky smile. 

Louis seemed to like his answer enough to relax his shoulders, leaning against his window and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Well, your year starts now, pup. What do you plan on doing first?”

Harry, unsure how to answer, shrugged a shoulder instead of giving a verbal response. He had resigned to the fact that he would never get far enough to see his dreams come to fruition, for the reality was still there in the back of his mind. Now, with the possibility of being able to take a step forward, he truly sat and thought about his next move. Then, he remembered: the flyer.

He sat up straight before quickly slipping out of his bed and across the room to his wall. He gently removed the pin keeping the flyer in place and returned it back once he had the paper in his hands. The feeling of it in his hold brought forth a deep rooted excitement he wasn’t able to contain, feeling his grin stretch his mouth wide. He then eagerly turned to face Louis who was looking at him curiously. Harry held the sheet out for him to read, bouncing on his heels as Louis took his time to fully read it.

“Britain's Got Talent? You know they’re going to film you and all that, yeah? Are you ready for all that?” Louis asked, and Harry nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve been waiting all my life to make this happen, Lou,” he answered happily, the nickname slipping out easily in his excitement. “Plus, if I’m being filmed that means it will be on the telly and maybe he’ll see me. Win-win, right?”

Louis’ brows started to furrow, but Harry spoke up again softly, “This is my only real chance at getting it right. I know I’ll be okay ‘cause you’ll be right there beside me.”

Louis hummed and looked to the flyer again, taking it in his hands and inspecting it as if the words had suddenly changed. Harry could see his smile, though, barely hidden behind the sheet, the small pull at the corners of his eyes giving him away. 

“Well, I _am_ now responsible for you. So you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Curly,” Louis casually said, pushing the flyer to Harry’s chest, trying and failing to contain his smile.

Harry didn’t bother to hide his own, beaming at Louis happily as he clutched the paper tightly in his hands. He did manage to hold back the urge to pull Louis into another hug, instead smoothing the flyer out before pinning it back onto his wall. Louis took that as an opportunity to push Harry’s fringe from his forehead and inspect his face slowly. Harry allowed him to, keeping completely still as Louis hand left his hair to touch under his eyes.

“It’s getting pretty late. Think it’s time you head to bed, yeah?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head. He wasn’t ready to rest just yet. There were still remnants of his previous rush of excitement flowing through him. How could he rest when he now could do everything he thought was no longer possible before? Harry wasn’t going to give up that easily and gave a small pout, hoping that would deter Louis’ decision.

Instead, Louis gave him a flat look and rolled his eyes, gently hitting his cheek a couple of times. “You have to wake up early for your audition. Stop being a stubborn arse and get some sleep.” 

The words coupled with Louis’ touch only made Harry laugh, a deep rumble filled with a small bout of affection. He smiled, instead, pushing his cheek against Louis’ palm. That earned him another eye roll but he felt like he won in the end when he got a smile.

“Bed. Now. I don’t want to have to fight to wake you up in the morning for the audition you were just _gagging_ to go to.”

Harry sighed and finally relented, slowly pulling away from Louis’ touch and made his way over to his bed. Just as he pulled the duvet back he looked over to Louis who rose a brow in question.

“Thank you, Louis. For everything,” he said sincerely, finally slipping into bed, tucking himself in under the covers.

When Harry glanced in Louis' direction he could just make out his small smile thanks to the light from the lamp, eyes bright and electric blue. The rest of his body was hidden by shadows cast from the window. It made Harry’s breath catch in his throat.

“Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well.”

Louis’ whisper carried in the air between them, adding another layer of protection to hold Harry over in the warmth of his room. And it only took a second between his first blink to the next for Louis to be gone, leaving Harry alone with his promise of something better to come tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please suspend belief on how talent shows work for the sake of the fic, or you will be very disappointed with me.
> 
> no warnings for this chapter! enjoy!

Louis hated hospitals.

He hated the white brick that held it together; he hated the sterile, stuffy air; he hated the small rooms and uncomfortable beds; and he especially hated the stillness, how everything seemed so subdued and frozen in time.

He hated hospitals—but only because he's been stuck in one for ages.

The soft, rhythmic beating of the heart rate monitor beside the hospital bed was the only noise in the quiet room. As he sat next to the open window he watched the body that laid on the bed, just as still as everything else around them. Louis watched their chest rise and fall steadily thanks to the ventilator attached to their body, the mask fogging up with each deep breath they took. Louis had been visiting this room for almost two years now, seen many people come and go, but it still felt like yesterday that he appeared beside that same body.

And even though the body in that bed belonged to him, it still seemed surreal he was even there in the first place.

“Welcome back, L.”

Louis looked up slowly towards the door, seeing Zayn standing there, messenger bag slung across his chest. In his hand was a coffee cup from that posh coffee place down the road that Louis absolutely loathed. Although he had dark bags under his eyes, Zayn still looked like he came out of a fashion magazine, donned in a thick grey overcoat paired with artfully ripped black skinnies and shiny Doc Martens. Louis never understood how Zayn did it, especially when on Louis’ best day he could only manage a jumper, jeans, and maybe a beanie if the weather called for it. 

“I don’t know how you drink that shit, Z. It’s disgusting,” Louis answered back in lieu of greeting, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the smell of the coffee starting to fill the room.

Zayn said nothing but took a long and loudly obnoxious sip before dropping his bag down and making his way over to where he sat. Louis shoved him gently when he did sit down, which earned him an elbowing back, before they settled and everything became quiet again. 

They didn’t talk to each other for a while, the silence occasionally filled with Zayn’s polite chatter with the nurses that came in and out the room. Instead, Louis looked out the window and watched the people below moving about monotonously in the dreary early morning London weather. His eyes made way to the bench across the street as the bus stopped in front.

He had met Zayn there, not long after Louis ended up with no memory of his old life and tired of having more questions than answers.

Zayn had been a friend he never knew he needed. A stoic faced medium who occasionally helped him terrorize the staff, Zayn had a way of making his uncertainties go away for a while.

Until a while turned into months, then years, and now here they were after all this time. Sat in Louis hospital room and waiting for that push to set his progress in motion. Now, sitting beside Zayn as the monitor drone on, Louis could finally admit to himself that he didn’t know what to do.

“How long has it been now, Z?” Louis asked softly, already knowing the answer but asking anyway as a distraction, his eyes focused on the body in the bed opposite of them.

Zayn didn’t answer immediately, and when Louis turned his way Zayn was looking at him with an unreadable expression. One would say he looked indifferent, if it wasn’t for the small frown on his face.

“Almost two years,” Zayn murmured softly, almost as if he didn’t want to say it. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Louis. It’s okay.” 

Louis didn’t like when Zayn got like this. Like some worried mother hen; because when Zayn worried he would make himself sick with it, and the last thing Louis needed was more guilt.

So, in true Louis fashion, he changed the subject.

"I saved someone last night."

He watched Zayn's eyes widen considerably, pausing mid-sip, turning his whole body in Louis' direction.

"His name is Harry. He wants to be a singer," Louis continued, ignoring Zayn's surprised expression and fiddled with fingers as he spoke. "He seems like a good Lad. Got a good head on his shoulders and all that. Had throat cancer. Awful stuff."

"'Had'? Like, in the past?" 

Louis looked away finally, letting the question dangle in the air for a few moments. He knew what Zayn would say to what he'd admit next, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear his response.

"I gave him some of my blood last night and let him live."

Zayn inhaled sharply at that. His answer came directly after, "You're a reaper, Louis. You can't mess with the balance of life and death. It's not your place. You _know_ this can get you in huge shit."

He knew Zayn was right, but it didn't mean that he wasn't going to argue about it.

"It's only for a year, Z. You didn't see him, didn't hear how shattered he was. God, he is so young. Just turned eighteen. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I let him die."

The silence that followed was tense, Zayn staring him down and Louis pointedly avoiding his gaze. The beeps of the heart monitor jumped a bit which made them both turn to look, and Louis inhaled quickly and exhaled harshly, willing himself to release the tension in his body. The heartbeat fell back to its steady rhythm.

When Zayn spoke up again, it was soft and inquisitive. "What made him so different from the others?"

Louis looked down to his feet, shifting a bit so the soles of his vans pressed together. He let the previous night play over again in his mind. It brought forth memories of Harry's shy face, gentle touch, and smile. It showcased Harry’s warmth and compassion, the words he held close to his chest. Harry spoke from his heart. There was gentleness with him that was so rare to see. Harry pulled something out of Louis that he hadn't felt in years: the desire to be vulnerable while also feeling the comfort of letting his worries go. Harry didn't feel like a stranger–he felt familiar in a way Louis couldn’t place.

"It felt like visiting an old friend," Louis admitted, pulling down the sleeves of his jumper as he thought. "Kind of awkward, at first, then it was as easy as breathing." Louis frowned, continuing, "And after just being around him, I knew he could do something good for the world. Like something big would be missing if he died. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let the world not get a chance to see it, too. Didn't want him to go before he did something truly phenomenal."

He swallowed down the emotions bubbling forth, trying to keep them from showing on his face. Louis wasn’t the type to just openly display how he felt, but at that moment he could feel that same bout of emotion coming to the forefront. His confession brought forth a contemplative kind of quietness, the only sound interrupting the silence in the form of beeps from the heart monitor.

Zayn eventually broke that silence with, “Do you think he’ll help you remember?”

Louis hesitated, flexing his fingers and looked up to the body that laid in the bed. He wasn’t sure how to answer at first, because he had _just_ met Harry the day before. It was true, though, just how easy it was to be with him. Louis didn’t have any recollection of his past, but even just being around Harry made him feel like things could change. Harry proved that with his determination to move forward. Could Louis really do the same?

“I don’t know, but if it happens, it happens. I promised to help him, and that’s my main priority,” Louis finally said after some time, finally looking over to Zayn who was looking right back at him.

“I don’t fully agree with what you’re doing, but I support you. Just be careful,” Zayn warned him quietly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder before letting go.

Louis nodded and looked back to the bed, wondering what his life would be like if he were to regain full consciousness. There was a lot he wasn’t prepared for yet, like facing his family after having to watch them cry over his body for days on end, but he was ready for a change. He wasn’t sure when it would happen, but he was hoping it would be soon.

“Sometimes I’m scared I’ll never get back there,” Louis admits with a bit of hesitance, nodding over to the bed. “Like I’m close yet so far away, you know? Nothing’s clear and I don’t remember anything. It’s like I’m at a stalemate.”

Zayn hummed quietly, leaning forward, eyes downcast and brows furrowed as if in deep thought. “Nothing has triggered your memories yet, L. Things like this take time. You’re doing what you can and that’s good. I think it will get better. Maybe this Harry lad can help you, yeah?”

And as he sat there with Zayn, the single most solid thing that had been in his life up until recently, he realized that maybe he could allow himself to hope. That maybe could finally let go of the dreadful thought of never opening his true eyes again.

And, God, did that hope seem sweet. He felt like he was running out of time—and that soon, it would all end, and he would be nothing but a memory lingering in the back of everyone’s minds. Louis wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 

Not yet. Not ever.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

“You wanted to see me Simon?”

“Ah, Louis, come on in,” Simon hummed, waving at him to enter the room fully, seemingly distracted with the paperwork that sat on his desk.

Louis knew better, though. Simon made himself look busy to provide a professional image, but Louis knew that it was a whole front to take away from how much of an asshole he really was. As he entered the room the door shut automatically behind him, sealing itself closed with a soft click. 

Louis took his seat in one of the leather chairs in front of Simon’s desk, barely looking around to take everything in, for he’s been in this office too many times to count. If one did care to know, it was sparsely furnished but what it did hold was expensive and timeless; from the white leather sofa and coffee table on the other side of the room, to the large, expansive floor to ceiling glass window that covered the entire wall behind Simon, it was all extra and unnecessary. He was already annoyed being there.

“How did it go with the Styles case? Everything taken care of?”

Straight to the point, then.

“It seems to be taken care of, yeah,” Louis answered, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat. 

Simon’s eyes flickered over to him, expression kept neutral but Louis was well aware by the small twitch of his eye that he was pissed off. Good.

“Really? Well, I find it a bit odd that his paperwork wasn’t on my desk this morning,” Simon hummed almost patronizingly, keeping his gaze steadily trained on Louis.

“Like I said, it was taken care of. No paperwork needed,” Louis said nonchalantly with a shrug, staring the older man back down, already prepared for the power struggle that was sure to come.

“Paperwork is always needed, Louis. We need to keep all deaths on file. You know this," Simon chastised him like one would a child, irking Louis further.

"And once his death is official you'll get the paperwork, _Simon._ "

Louis held back his flinch when Simon leaned in forward, posture stiff and eyes narrowed.

"You think you can just pick and choose which rules to follow, Tomlinson?"

Louis grit his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest. "I have it under control. I'm not stupid."

Simon rolled his eyes and Louis felt his fingers dig into his arms, but kept his steely front up. Simon knew how to get under his skin but he refused to let him win so easily.

"Under control means you would have reaped him and I'd have a death certificate on my desk. Instead, you go all bleeding heart and spare this boy who is only hindering your progression forward."

"He's just turned eighteen, for fucks sake! He would have just turned into a bloody ghost if I reaped him," Louis countered back quickly, now also leaning forward in an act of defiance.

"What happens to the soul after we reap them is of no concern to us. And need I remind you this job of yours brings you closer to full consciousness," Simon answered easily, tone stern and scolding.

"It's a year, Simon. I've already been at it for two, what's one more?"

Simon sighs as if answering his question would take too much time out of his day. Louis wants to lean in and punch him square in the face.

"The problem is that it's been two years and you haven't gotten any closer to regaining consciousness. You're jeopardizing your chances because you feel sorry for him."

"I don't feel sorry for him, I think he has a chance of making the world a less shitty place," came Louis' clipped reply, finally showing his anger. "He agreed that he would fully give his soul over once the year is over. You act like I've committed some kind of crime."

Simon leveled his gaze at Louis patronizingly, like he knew something Louis didn't. "Since you're so set on making sure this boy stays alive, you understand that there are consequences to your actions."

Louis rolled his eyes. "I have to be responsible for him for the year and make sure to reap him when it's over. Child's play."

Simon gave him a smile then that made his blood run cold. It was as cocky as it was sinister, like a cat who caught the canary. "That's not all, Louis. When a reaper gives their blood to a human, they are bonded for that allotted period of time. Which means if he dies, you will also die."

Louis reeled back as if he had been slapped, eyes wide and body rigid. Louis wasn't sure how to process such information, memories flashing to his body lying in wait in his hospital bed. If he were to suddenly die Zayn wouldn't understand, and his sisters were barely holding up as it was. Something like that would absolutely destroy them. He felt as if his heart had been taken a hold of and thrown violently into the pit of his stomach. 

Simon continued on, "And when that happens, he will turn into a ghost and your life will replace the one that was lost."

Louis was trembling, now, his hands dropping to his sides uselessly as he looked into his bosses gloating eyes. If anything happened neither one of them would end up achieving their goals. If either of them died that would be it, and all the effort made would have been for nothing. It was all up to him.

"Now, you don’t want to hurt him, do you? What about your own life? Are you willing to leave your sisters behind over a silly little boy? If anything goes wrong, it will all fall on you, Louis. Tell me, is his life truly worth the risk?"

Louis held back his tears, trying to think of a rebuttal but all he could do was sit there and feel defeated. He hated how unfair it was that it would end up in such a way. It was completely out of his control. Zayn's words echoed in his brain.

_'You can't mess with the balance of life and death. It's not your place.'_

Louis grit his teeth and did his best not to show any more signs of weakness in front of Simon, thinking about his next move. He thought back to his body waiting in his hospital bed, aging physically as he did mentally, waiting on him to do something to bring them back together. Thought back to Zayn who continuously kept by his side just shy of two years. To his little sisters who prayed everyday he'd open his eyes. And then to Harry, who held him close and smiled unlike anything he had seen. Harry with big dreams and maybe an even bigger heart. Harry who gave his life over to a reaper like him, with no hesitation, when his world was going to end.

Was it worth it? 

_'I know I’ll be okay ‘cause you’ll be right there beside me.'_

Was it worth it?

_'Thank you, Louis. For everything.'_

Was it worth it?

Louis steeled his gaze and straightened his shoulders, looking Simon in his eyes, finally having an answer:

"He's worth it."

Simon's eyes widened, apparently not expecting the answer. Louis wanted to laugh and throw up his middle finger, but instead he sat fully upright in his chair and kept his gaze straight on the older man.

"I don't do anything half-arsed. That also means protecting him. I gave him my word, my blood. I take full responsibility for whatever happens."

Simon looked angry now, fists clenched on his desk, but he said nothing in response. He knew that Louis had won this round.

Louis clapped his hands together loudly. "Well, since we seem to be finished here, I need to get to my charge. Make sure he's in top shape for today and all that. You know how it is. Goodbye, Simon."

He stood up and made his way out the office, this time the click of the door closing sounding like victory. Louis smiled triumphantly before strutting down the hall and then disappearing into the air in a blink of an eye.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

When Harry finally wakes up it’s to a set of fingers digging into his sides, pressing into the ticklish parts of his body. He squeaks and jolts immediately, trying to get away, but the fingers are relentless, pressing harder. His laughter echoes in the quietness of his room, reaching out to grab the hands in an effort to stop the onslaught, but he’s not stronger than whoever is tickling him. Tears catch in his eyes as he tries to hide his giggles, a familiar tinkle of laughter filling the air, harmonizing with his.

“Uncle, uncle! I give up, let me go!” he squeals, wheezing at the tail end of his laugh.

He’s tickled for a few more moments before the hands finally stop, allowing him to catch his breath. When he is finally able to turn around, a few tears have escaped his eyes, and he can feel how wide his grin is stretched across his face.

“Should have got up when I called your name the first time, pup. That’ll teach you,” Louis snickers down at him, his smile almost matching Harry’s in intensity.

Harry gave his best pout but his smile returned soon after, finally sitting up and giving a quick stretch. When he looked back to Louis he was making himself at home, sorting through Harry’s things and tutting quietly at his clothes.

“Who owns these many polos? And it’s Ralph Lauren? Christ,” Louis grumbled disapprovingly, shoving hangers to the side as he continued to pick apart each article of clothing he found.

Harry rolled his eyes at the dramatics, slipping out of bed and making it quickly before joining Louis at his open closet. No matter what Harry reached for, Louis swatted his hand away, shaking his head and berating him on his ‘terrible fashion sense’. It took everything in Harry not to laugh, hopelessly endeared even though he knew he should be offended at the other boy openly disapproving of his clothing choices. It went on like that for a while until Louis seemed to finally find something that he deemed suitable, which really was only a purple jumper and a pair of his loosest skinny jeans. Louis shoved them in his arms before turning back to the wardrobe, hands perched on his hips. He saw Louis eye the row of shoes that lined the bottom and knew immediately that he was going to rib him over it.

“Honestly, Harry, do you own anything that aren’t boots or basic trainers? You’ll be on national television, you have to dress to impress! When you make it big we’re throwing all these out and starting you off fresh. Nothing of the sort that your mum bought you when you were, what? In secondary?” Louis tutted, side eyeing him with a small frown on his face.

Harry was unable to contain his honk of laughter then, the sound loud and completely unexpected. He slapped his hand over his mouth quickly in embarrassment, eyes wide in shock. Louis’ own eyes widened before a grin broke out on his face, eyes suddenly more bright and electric. They reminded Harry of the night before, right as Louis wished him a goodnight. He was mesmerized.

“I’m glad you think I’m funny, Harold, but this is a serious matter,” Louis tried to say sternly, but his smile took the effect of it away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologized, a bit muffled behind his hand before he dropped it. “But, hey! My mum _did_ buy me these at the end of secondary, you arse. I was pulled out of school this year ‘cause my throat was getting worse.”

Louis’ smile seemed to dim then, expression now a little more pensive and sad. It only lasted a moment, the blue of his eyes almost dark and stormy, before Louis fully turned away, squatting down before his shoes. Harry didn’t like that look. The feeling it left behind turned his stomach into hundreds of tight knots.

“Lou-”

“Ah-ha! You _do_ have some that will work! Thank God,” Louis burst out loudly, effectively cutting off any sort of sentiment Harry was about to say.

He stood up quickly and shoved a pair of purple converse into his arms, looking proud of himself. Harry still felt a little uneasy, unable to shake off the moment before, but it seemed like Louis was done with the conversation for he pushed Harry at his back, a signal to turn around.

“Now, young Harold, get all cleaned up and ready! Time's a-wastin' and we need to make sure you get there on time. Off you go!” Louis shooed him, pushing him in the direction of the bedroom door.

Harry looked back at Louis who wouldn’t meet his eyes, his own still that same dim, contemplative blue. Even though Harry wanted to talk about it, to find out what that look meant, he decided on leaving it be. A discussion for another time.

“Alright, alright. I’m going,” Harry relented and made his way out the room with a sigh.

He caught sight of Louis’ small frown right before he turned the corner, which caused him to not notice Gemma walking by. They barely missed colliding into each other, Gemma crying out loud enough to have Harry stopping right in his tracks. When he peered over his clothes to see his sister there, holding her drink high above her head, he gave the quickest sorry known to man before ducking around her.

“Jeez, Harry. Go any faster and you’ll mow me over,” she cried out in exasperation, rolling her eyes before pausing. “Speaking of… what are the clothes for? Where are you going?”

Harry paused, chewing on his lip nervously in lieu of a response. She didn’t seem to like his lack of answer, because her eyebrow rose and gave a frown. They stared at each other for a few moments before she spoke up again.

“You’re not going out to do anything, like, illegal or something, are you?”

Harry almost choked on his inhale, spluttering loudly. “What? _No,_ Gemms. Nothing illegal… maybe something that mum might get mad about, but not illegal.”

Gemma stared him down for a moment before fully turning to face him, frown getting deeper. “Sure sounds like something illegal if you look that guilty about it. Are you going out to perform with your band, or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbled softly, looking away from his sister for a moment, trying to decide if he should just come clean or give his best attempt at a lie. He knew he was a horrible liar, though.

Gemma’s frown was even more obvious around the cup pressed to her lips, stopping mid-drink at his response. Harry didn’t know what she was going to say next, but her inquisitive look let him know that she had already guessed what he was fretting about. She crossed her arms, gaze never wavering.

“H, you know you’re not supposed to be singing anymore. Your surgery is next week. Mum would lose her mind if your situation got worse,” Gemma said sternly, sounding almost exasperated that she had to even explain it to him in the first place.

“I know but Gemms, this is my last chance to do something. I need to prove that I can still sing, that I’m not a lost cause. _Please._ I just need to know that I can do it,” Harry pleaded, clutching his clothes tighter to his chest, a small reminder of what could be if she was on his side.

It was quiet for a moment, Gemma seemingly considering his plea. It felt like hours before she moved, sighing tiredly before giving him a small smile. “I should charge you for this, you know. For keeping your dirty little teenage secrets and all.”

Harry felt happiness swell in his chest, knowing this was the best answer he would receive from her on the matter. She was in his corner, and that was more than enough. He thanked her over and over again, which resulted in her laughing and waving him off with her hand.

“You should hurry up before mum get’s home. Don’t want to keep your audience waiting.”

Harry almost gave her a hug but instead turned on his heel and hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and stripped down to take the quickest shower possible. Once dressed and freshened up he worked to style his hair, which was a wet mess at best, and hurried to his bedroom, entering to see Louis there laid out on his bed, hands placed over his stomach.

Louis barely lifted his head to look at Harry, eyes roaming his body slowly, making Harry fidget a bit at the attention. Louis’ eyes finally snapped up to Harry’s own and he gave a nod of approval, sitting up with a grunt and slipping off of the bed. 

“Alright, everything looks sorted. Ready to show the world the real Harry Styles?”

Harry felt himself smile with a nod, grabbing his phone, keys, and wallet before making way down the hall, peeking his head into Gemma’s room. She looked up from her book and gave him a small smile, encouraging enough to have him feel slightly less guilty over what he was about to do.

“Good luck. Next time I see you you’re going to be ready to tour the world,” Gemma said with enough conviction to have even Harry feeling hopeful.

“Thanks, Gemms. For… you know,” he replied, looking away with a nervous smile.

Her answering laugh and hand to shoo him away was enough to get him in gear, tossing a glance back at Louis who gave him his own smile, nodding his head towards the staircase. Soon they were both out of the house, making the short walk to the bus stop that would take them to the metro that would lead Harry right to his future. He had memorized the path and times almost obsessively during the nights leading to his audition. It had been something to hold onto, and now that same silly dream was finally becoming a reality. Even if it wasn’t under the circumstances he had wished for, knowing that Louis was right there beside him made all of it worth it.

Louis must have noticed his nervousness, because he reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair almost aggressively. Harry squawked loudly in shock, apologizing quickly to the few other people standing at the bus stop, before giving Louis a dirty look.

Louis only snickered as Harry did his best to fix his hair. He grumbled softly and ran his fingers through the tousled mess, all over the place from their mistreatment.

“Not funny, Lou,” Harry huffed quietly while pushing his fringe up, not sure how well his styling was going without a mirror.

“Looks better this way, though, innit? You looked like my nan a minute ago.”

“Oh, piss off you arse,” Harry replied by automatically, but he had a smile on his face, finally giving up on his hair.

“You wound me, dear Harold. I’m here helping you out of the kindness of my heart and still you accuse me of such things.”

Harry tried not to laugh, wanting to continue their banter but held back, feeling the stares of the other patrons on him as he stood there. He already had embarrassed himself enough and he didn’t need to give Louis the satisfaction of him fully losing his dignity over it. Instead, Harry gently bumped his leg against Louis’ and couldn't contain his smile when Louis pushed his right back.

They stood like that until the bus arrived, and once they boarded they made sure to choose a spot away from the crowd in the back, seated close enough to each other that their arms pressed together. Harry couldn’t find a better word for his feelings other than happiness as he sat beside Louis, speaking quietly to him under the hum of the bus's engine. They kept like that through the ride, only pausing to get off the bus and transfer over to the metro, to where they resumed their chat in hushed whispers.

The nerves came back in full force, though, when they finally arrived in Manchester. Louis led Harry off the train, steps sure, while Harry was stumbling a bit in his nervousness. This time, when Louis tried to distract him, it didn’t work as well, a fog clouding his mind as they walked the short distance to the audition building. It took all of his focus to do his sign up, dropping the pen twice with his shaking fingers, and even longer to fully come to during their wait in line. Louis distracted him with funny stories, and even gently rubbed his wrist in encouragement before it was his turn to go through his interview. After the quick and painless process, they were then led to the backroom where other the contestants were milling about and waiting for their own chance to shine. 

Louis’ hand immediately took to his lower back, a touch that guided Harry though the sea of people to a less crowded area. Harry hung back against the wall, shoulders tensed, when quietly Louis gently took his wrist again, massaging it slowly. It was a soothing motion that was meant to ease some of his anxious tension, but Harry still couldn’t fully get himself to relax. He looked at Louis who looked right back at him with furrowed brows, concern clear as day on his face.

“It won’t be much longer now, love. You’re halfway there.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, leaning his head against the wall, the soothing motion on his wrist starting to ground him. Then, it suddenly stopped. Confused, Harry opened his eyes to look to Louis before a sound cut through his thoughts.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself, mate,” came a loud voice, startling Harry enough to have him jump almost a foot in the air, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. 

He was a bit shorter than Harry, with blond hair, a wide smile, and a mouth full metal. He sounded foreign, maybe Irish, with a guitar slung over his shoulder and a snapback on his head, looking all the cool that Harry wished he had felt. 

“Erm, well, I am a little nervous. Don’t really know what to expect. Are you performing, too?” Harry asked politely, unsure but not upset he had been approached.

“Nah, can’t even if I wanted to. My dad works here. Against the rules or summat,” the blond shrugged, fixing his hat before looking up and across the room. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, and looked to Louis who had become quiet, only to see that he was staring at blond with an unreadable expression. He was ready to ask what was wrong when the stranger stuck his hand out to Harry, a smile back on his face.

“’m Niall, nice to meet ya.”

“Likewise. I’m Harry,” he introduced, shaking the other boys hand back with just as much enthusiasm.

“Did ya bring anyone else here with you? Sucks if you came alone.”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to be here today. My mate Louis is here with me. He’s been very supportive,” Harry smiled brightly, looking quickly over to Louis who didn’t meet his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Where is he at?” Niall asked curiously, looking around the room to search for said person in question.

“He’s…” Harry trailed off, eyes cutting over to Louis who had stiffened considerably.

“I bet he’s already sitting in his seat, waitin’ on you to blow us all away with that voice of yours.”

“Y-Yeah. Uhm, you’re probably right,” Harry murmured, turning his gaze to Louis in confusion. 

Louis looked sad, an unspoken apology sitting there in his glowing eyes. He shook his head instead of answering the question that hung in the air between them. “Not here, love. Later. Focus on your audition.”

Harry wasn’t entirely pleased with the answer but didn’t have time to dwell on it, for his name was called loudly by a woman holding a clipboard. He tensed and looked to Louis who only gave him a small smile of encouragement. Niall gave him a reassuring pat on the back and a bright smile, shooting him a quick ‘good luck’ before Harry made his way over to the woman. She confirmed it was him before escorting him towards the side of the stage.

It then hit Harry that this was happening—that he was about to sing in front of those judges and in front of the entire world. The stagehand guided him over to the red ‘X’ marked on the floor, told him to wait for the previous contestant to exit, and then left him to his own devices. As soon as Harry looked over, there Louis was, watching the person that went before him on stage wrapping up their own song. Louis looked to him and his expression seemed to soften, a small frown on his face. Harry must not have been hiding his feelings well, because immediately Louis brought his hand over to rest gently on his lower back. Louis’ hand was a solid weight, steadying him and soothing his frayed nerves. 

“You’ll smash it, Harry. I know you will,” Louis reassured softly, gently rubbing circles where his hand lay.

Harry looked to Louis and gave a shaky nod, wishing he could bring him on stage during his performance, but knew that, ultimately, he would have to do this on his own. It was comforting to have Louis there, though. Just knowing he had someone there to support him had him a tad bit calmer.

“Just remember: _you_ did this. It’s _you_ who made it through to this round. And that is bloody fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry could feel himself smiling, now, almost fully relaxed at Louis reassurances. Soon, the previous contestant exited the stage and it was his turn to go on. Louis gave him one more encouraging squeeze on the side before Harry made his way on stage. Tense with nerves, he gave a shy smile and a small wave to the judges as they greeted him. 

“Hello, dear. What’s your name?” a woman with long brown hair, Alesha, it read, asked him kindly.

“Uhm, hello. I’m Harry Styles. I’m eighteen and I’m from Holmes Chapel.”

“Oh, had to travel a bit to get here, yeah?” 

“Yeah, a little bit. Would tell you about the traffic but it might drive you crazy,” he joked nervously, earning a few laughs from the crowd.

A man with short brown hair, David, gave him a chuckle then a small smile. “Well then, Harry Styles, what will you be singing for us today?”

“I’ll be singing ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls.” 

“Nice choice. Alright, well go ahead.”

His voice started off shaky and softer than intended, fingers gripping tightly on his microphone to try and keep his composure. The stage lights were blinding, and his fingers were sweating, the anxiety of performing onstage starting to take over. The fear of slipping up and ruining his chances was brought forth from the dark corner of his mind, almost stumbling over the words he was trying to sing. After everything, he knew couldn’t mess up. He couldn’t let himself throw away the gift he was given, not after all it took to get him to this very moment on that very stage. He closed his eyes and worked the next line from his lips, imagining that same big smile that etched itself in his mind from so long ago. Held onto that feeling and the happiness it brought as he pushed forward.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked towards the crowd, a sea of faces that was darkened from afar as the lights above beamed down on him. His eyes flickered over the rows, taking in everything he could as he sang. Then, something caught his eye and he almost choked on his inhale.

It took everything he had to keep singing as he gazed upon the face that shaped his sweetest childhood memories. Eyes that were big and adoring stared right back up at him from the crowd. A few blinks to clear his vision and he realized that it wasn’t his six year old love, but Louis towards the front row, watching him perform with an attentive gaze. His eyes were like a torch cutting through dark, a luminous neon blue that drew Harry’s gaze to him. Louis was watching him as if he was in awe—as if he was truly seeing Harry for the first time. Having his gaze on Harry loosened the knots in his stomach one by one, the words now leaving his lips as easy as it was to breathe. He felt himself smiling before he could stop it and Louis’ smile mirrored his own, maybe even bigger, for it brought out those lines by his eyes that Harry was starting to become accustomed to.

By the time he sung the last line Harry was feeling completely at ease, slowly bringing his microphone from his lips but kept his gaze steady on Louis. No one moved for a moment before a stream of cheers and clapping filled the room, but it seemed like Louis was clapping the loudest, standing up from his chair to give Harry what could be considered a standing ovation. Harry felt himself smile wider, shyly ducking his head and compulsively fixed his fringe to give his hands something to do.

“Harry,” the blonde haired woman, Amanda, spoke up, finally catching his attention so he could look her in the eye.

“I must admit, when you started out I was a little nervous. You seemed like you weren’t really into it, you know? But then all the sudden it’s like you brought out this burst of confidence and let me tell you: you blew me away. Truly, it was amazing. Be proud.”

Harry felt his smile grow wide, mumbling a soft ‘thank you’ into his microphone, before Alesha spoke.

“Honestly, I loved it. I can tell you sing from the heart. There is so much power and soul behind your voice. I was totally captivated. The beginning was a little rough but once you got into it? Amazing. You have a lot of talent, Harry.”

Harry was close to tears at this point, the pride and relief setting in, making his smile turn softer around the edges. He gave another genuine ‘thank you’ before David cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t expecting that kind of voice to come out of you, to be honest. Your voice is nice but it felt like something was missing.” 

Boos echoed in the crowd and Harry gave a small smile and murmured his own teasingly soft one in his microphone. 

David shook his head and continued, “You have that something there, Harry, it just needs to be refined a bit. I did enjoy your performance, though. Thank you for singing for us.”

Harry nodded a bit and tried not to let the words affect him, instead looking over the judges as they decided on their final answers among themselves.

Alesha was the first to speak up. “Harry, I was truly impressed by your performance. You’re a talented young man, and I hope you continue to pursue your passion. I’m going to say yes.”

Harry smiled so wide it hurt his face, hearing the crowd cheer for him, in turn, before his eyes flickered over to Amanda.

“I loved it. I loved your voice, I loved how you just drew in the crowd. Your voice is something I’ve never heard before. It’s sort of husky and deep. There’s nothing I can say that I haven’t already said, so… it’s a yes from me!”

The crowd cheered again and he did his best not to fist pump as his gaze fell to the final judge. David looked like he was contemplative, and Harry’s heart began to race. 

“While you do sing well, your voice is very rough and unpolished. Like I said, you’re missing that something,” David begins, stopping for a moment as the crowd raises their voices to boo and Harry feels his stomach drop. 

David takes a moment for the crowd to die down before continuing, “But your sound is strong. Your voice is solid and a lot can be done with it. So… I’m giving you a yes. Congratulations, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t contain it then, he jumped up in happiness, all but cheering as the crowd came to life. He mumbled out excited ‘thank you’s’ into his microphone before waving quickly and hurrying towards the stage exit.

Harry all but ran backstage, a few stage hands and the next contestant up congratulating him with claps on the back as he went by. He was only looking for one person, though. And his appearance came in the form of a hand on his shoulder, causing Harry to turn around and be met with the widest smile imaginable.

Louis' eyes glittered beautifully in the fluorescent lights, the crinkles by them pulled tight to showcase his happiness. “I knew you could do it! You absolutely _smashed_ it, Harry!”

Harry felt himself flush at the genuine praise, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear shyly. He was happy that he had Louis there with him. He wasn’t sure if he would have done as well if he had been alone in this. 

“Thanks, Lou. Honestly I can’t believe I made it,” Harry admitted softly, shuffling his feet.

Louis shook his head, gently taking Harry’s hands in his smaller ones and squeezed them firmly.

“None of that, love. I’m so, so proud. You absolutely killed it out there. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Harry felt heat travel up his neck and to his face, the praise blossoming in his chest like sunflowers, a sweet feeling he held close. Without another thought he pulled Louis into a hug, burying his face in his neck, trying to convey his joy and appreciation with it. Louis didn’t hesitate in holding him back, giving a low hum that vibrated against Harry’s chest.

Harry felt at peace just tucked into Louis embrace, a welcome comfort after his nerve wracking performance. Louis must have felt the same, for his grip got a little bit tighter, holding Harry just as close. Footsteps drawing near had Harry reluctantly pulling away, gaze lingering on Louis for a beat longer before looking up to see Niall starting to approach him. 

Niall clapped him on the back, causing Harry to jostle forward a bit. “Harry! You killed it up there, mate! Heard you got all three yeses! You’re makin’ the rest of us look bad!”

Harry smiled sheepishly to which Niall laughed at, a loud and bright sound. It was good-natured enough to have Harry relax fully, knowing that Niall was genuine in his compliments. He glanced over to Louis who only gave him a smile back, nodding over to Niall as if reminding him to keep up his conversation.

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t think I would make it,” Harry finally said, getting another cheerful clap on the back from the blond.

“Congrats for real though, Harry. I’m rootin’ for ya!"

Harry felt his smile widen at that. He liked Niall. He was hoping they could be good friends someday.

“Thanks. Now it’s time to play the waiting game,” Harry said tentatively, watching the next contestant make their way on stage from where he stood, hoping that he would be one of the few chosen amongst all of his current competition.

“Don’t worry too much about it, yeah? You’re definitely going to make it, superstar,” Niall hushed him assuredly, making eye contact with one of the stagehands near the back curtain, her nodding in his direction.

Niall nodded back before pulling away and turning to Harry. “Gotta go and help out but I’ll be watchin’ out for your win! See ya later, superstar!”

With that Niall hurries off with the stagehand and out the door, leaving Harry back alone with Louis. Harry feels that same bubble of anxiety taking over his stomach, pushing everything around, causing him to feel tense. He doesn’t even realize he’s biting at his thumb until Louis gently takes it out his mouth, causing him to look over at Louis with big eyes. Louis looks slightly concerned, gently massaging the area where Harry's thumb and index connected with his own.

“You’ll be fine, Haz,” Louis assured, gently tugging Harry towards the mostly empty waiting area to a corner a bit more secluded from the rest. “Come, let’s sit and watch the other performers. You’re missing out. The lad that just went on after you is doing an impersonation of Bowie.”

Harry laughed softly and let himself be led, flopping onto the small leather couch that'd been provided, Louis sitting down beside him. His leg knocked against Harry’s as he sat and it took endless bouts of willpower to focus on the television in front of them instead of the warmth that radiated from Louis’ knee against his own.

They watched the Bowie performance (a brilliant one, he might add), a young girl who sang a beautiful rendition of _‘My Heart Will Go On’,_ and an older woman who cracked jokes that had both he and Louis in stitches, before it cut to black and Niall returned towards the backroom. Just seeing him brought the anxiety back in full force, and as if able to tell that Harry was on a downward spiral, Louis' hand was placed to that familiar spot on his back. The weight was grounding, keeping him from floating away on the coattails of his anxiousness. It brought Harry back to the present, one that included focusing on Niall who had already begun talking to him.

“You’re going to line up with the other contestants and get ready for them to call your name. They got these big markers that tell ya where to go, can’t miss them. Then you’ll get on stage and they’ll pick the top five and if ya make it— _fuck that, you got three bloody yeses, you’re gonna make it_ —you’ll be brought out back and you’ll meet someone and blah, blah, blah. You get the rest.”

Niall said it all so quickly that all Harry could do was nod dumbly, pushing his back against Louis’ hand to help keep himself calm, feeling the gentle pressure of fingers massaging near his spine. It helped ease the rest of the tension from his body, quietly thanking Louis with a gentle knock of his knee against the other boys. Niall called his name and directed him to follow, making way towards the line of contestants, causing Harry to finally spring into action.

Harry stood up quickly, tossing one last look to Louis who gave him a two thumbs up and a stunningly bright smile, before hurrying over to line up with the handful of other contestants that made it through. The feeling of Louis’ lingering touch helped calm him as he stood on his red marker, a big red ‘X’ on the floor. With a few words it was time, the group moving forward onstage, gathering neatly in the center.

David addressed them all with a warm ‘welcome back' before getting right to business. "Now, as you know, there are ten of you here but we can only choose five of you to win this round of Britain's Got Talent today. A lot of thought went into this process, and if you aren’t called this does not mean you are not talented. Every single one of you were bloody amazing and you all made it this far. Feel proud.”

Harry shifted on his feet nervously, trying to focus on the words spoken to him but as he stood there with that small group, he realized that he might not make it. There was a chance his name wouldn’t be called and that he would go home and that would be it. He didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to look back and wish that, somehow, he could have done something _more._

“We’ll be calling out the names now,” Amanda said from beside David and suddenly, the entire room was silent.

One by one names were called, one being the young girl who sang earlier, and soon there were four contestants standing up front. Harry nervously bit his lip and felt the tension in the room thicken, knowing that it was the moment of truth. They were all waiting for the same thing: to make it.

“And, finally, the last contestant to win this round of Britain's Got Talent is…”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and prayed. All the dreams that hung in his room, all the whispers in the night, Louis’ gift, his desire to succeed, it all weighed on him as he stood in wait. 

_‘Please, please, please.’_

“Harry Styles.”

His eyes snapped open and his head went up so fast he almost caught whiplash, eyes wide in shock as he stared down the judges who all had smiles on their faces. Harry didn’t move for a moment, body frozen as the reality of the situation hit him, and then he was a mess of limbs, stumbling forward to join the four other contestants in line. He took in the cheers from the crowd and waved for the camera that panned around them, fully in disbelief.

It was that moment that solidified that his life was about to change. 

And he was more than ready for it.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

The ride on the tube back to Holmes Chapel was quiet, the excitement of earlier still running through him, but now it was contained to his little bubble that included Louis’ soft smile and endless stream of praise. 

The hours following the win had him in a long wrap-up interview, then a room surrounded by men in suits who gave him a contract to go over with his mother, and ended with a big hug from Niall who told him that he was already Harry’s number one fan. His phone sat heavy in his pocket, now holding the blond’s number, as a reminder of the friend that he had just made. The thought that he had truly, genuinely, made it was still unbelievable to him. No matter how much Louis said otherwise.

They sat in the corner, a bit more deserted with there being almost no passengers on board, with Louis’ leg comfortably hooked over Harry’s. Louis was toying with Harry’s hair as he spoke, eyes outshining the lights in the metro car. Watching Louis talk, all hands and eyebrows and sass, reminded Harry of something that he knew they really needed to talk about.

“Lou,” Harry interrupted Louis quietly, watching as Louis peered at him with a raised brow, looking almost appalled that Harry had interrupted him. Disgustingly endeared, Harry continued, “We need to, uhm, talk. About earlier.”

Louis looked confused for all of a moment before his expression fell completely, body sagging as if the weight of the conversation they were about to have was already upon him.

“Go ahead, Haz.”

Harry slowly reached out and placed his fingertips onto Louis’ leg, a simple touch that made him feel a bit more connected to him. 

“Earlier, with Niall… he… well... you know…”

“Couldn’t see me,” Louis supplied quietly, no longer making eye contact with Harry and instead picking at his own jumper. He sounded sad, exhausted in a way that made his voice soft and slow. “Yeah, that sort of comes with the gig. I’m… well, technically I’m _dead,_ Harry. A spirit, sort of. You can see me but others can't. You’re not supposed to be here right now, Haz. We formed a blood bond so you can, but unless the person is literally on their deathbed, I don’t exist to them.”

Harry didn’t entirely know how to feel with the information he received. He understood, of course he did, but that made the reality of everything much more prominent. As Louis pointed out, Harry wasn’t supposed to be alive. Harry wasn’t supposed to make it to his audition, to live past the day before. He was given a gift and that came with Louis, the person who saved his life. In turn he couldn’t do the things he would hope to someday do, like bring him around to meet his mum and sister; to hang out with him with his mates and show off the one who helped him get to where he was; and he couldn’t share the comfort that Louis brought him to the others who should be able to meet him, to see just how special Louis truly was.

The thought of it broke his heart.

“‘m sorry, Lou,” Harry apologized, voice thick with unshed tears, feeling his emotions rise to the surface as his fingers curled around the area they were resting on Louis’ leg.

“No, no, none of that, love,” Louis hushed him quickly, sitting up and taking Harry’s face in his hands. “It’s alright. I’ve made my peace with it. Right now I’m here to make sure everything goes all well with you. I made a promise to you, and I intend on keeping it. If I didn’t think this would be worth it, I wouldn’t have said yes. Cheer up, love. You have so, so much to be happy about. You passed the audition. You’ll be signed in a few days time and soon you’ll be making a record. You’re closer to your dreams, Haz. I’m honored to be by your side during all of this.”

Harry took a shaky breath and nodded quickly, leaning into Louis’ touch, closing his eyes. When he exhaled he felt a bit better, far less stricken then he did before. Harry had read somewhere that Death’s hands were supposed to be cold and lifeless but Louis’ were the complete opposite. His hands were warm and gentle, holding Harry like he was breakable, as if he was able to keep him together with just his touch alone. Harry had Louis to hold him, and Harry hoped that one day he could show Louis that he had him, too.

“Better?” Louis asked quietly, and when Harry opened his eyes Louis was looking at him with that same soft expression.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Much better. Thank you, Lou.”

Louis smiled, an upturn of the lips that made contentment run through him, and for the rest of the ride they were close together like that. Louis had one hand playing with his hair, the other resting on his knee, and Harry with his head tucked in Louis’ shoulder, their legs still connected. They didn’t speak but there was no need to. The comfortable quiet of being together after a long day was more than enough.

And as the train took them back home, Harry let the warmth of Louis’ settle in, and within moments he could feel himself drifting off into slumber. With gentle fingers playing with his hair and Louis looking down at him with a smile and luminous eyes, Harry finally let himself slip. 

He let himself fall into the comforting dark with the thought of keeping that smile on Louis' face for as long as could have him. For as long as they could have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you liked it, and if it's not a bother, consider reblogging the [tumblr post](https://senshine.tumblr.com/post/637627194430078977/everything-i-ever-wanted-by-senshinevivosen) as well?


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